Tararua SK Main Range

Ever since I read Graeme Dingle’s story, 10 year ago, of his 18 hour run along the length of the Tararuas back in 1965, I have been inspired by the “S-K”. It is the epitome of NZ adventure: a pure line, committing - no easy options for retreat, rugged terrain, an extreme distance and a savage amount of vertical.

While the South Island has been gifted the spectacular Southern Alps, they cannot compete with huge swaths of runnable ridgelines that the North Island has to offer, and this is where the Tararuas excel.

I had only completed one run here before – Otaki forks to Mt Hector, in full clag & rain - so I was looking forward to finally seeing the Tararua range in the flesh. This was the place where my mother and her siblings were raised tramping every weekend against their wills, now I had to discover it for myself.

My preferred style of mountain running outings lately has been: solo, lightweight, spontaneous. This style brings extra risk, so picking a good weather forecast is key, as well as emergency survival gear, communication & navigation devices, sufficient calories. Solo & spontaneous allows simplified logistics especially for picking the perfect day of weather. I only decided on the SK 9 days earlier as New Year’s Day dawned brightly on the Metvuw horizon.

But as reward, nothing compares to flying, unhindered & alone across a crisp ridge, with the final objective of Mount Hector looming 50 kilometres away, a mere haze in the horizon. This magic view from the tops came around three hours in, from the peaks of Mt Dundas and friends. I didn’t want to stare too hard into the distance for fear of being overwhelmed.

I had started earlier that morning at 3:30am, buzzing with anticipation. You can always count on your intuition to let you know if you’re ready for a challenge. Grateful to friends Felicity, Tom & Fergus for the early ride to the start, they also set off behind me to the Chamberlain Creek canyon from East Peak as I dissolved myself into the darkness.

After the pink sunrise cast by Australian bush fires, I pushed myself across the tops towards Arete, where I fell into the trap of trying to stay on target with other people’s published splits. This was a fun novelty for me, knowing how far ahead or behind a certain finishing time you were.

But it also proved to be dangerous in the hours before Dracophyllum Knob, where I realized I was low on water, and had failed to fill up at the few tarns along the way, concentrating on hitting splits at the expense of conserving myself for the long day ahead. Only carrying 1L of capacity was a big mistake, I should have carried 2L. This was no longer the South Island running I was used to, with either rivers or snow available everywhere to fill up on.

When I finally staggered into Drac biv I was already deep in a hole of dehydration that I would struggle for the rest of the day to climb out of. The beautifully clear, but blazing hot weather now showed its true cost – if only for a bit of clag & drizzle!

Dizzy in the heat, I dragged myself through the endless undulations of bush and peaks, amazed by the Tararuas’ inability to produce any flat ground.

Nicholls hut, Andersons hut, Maungahuka hut: I skulled as much fluid as I could, but almost immediately I would be back on the Tailwind, sucking it down like crack.

From this experience of strangely unquenchable thirst, in future I would bring more variety of powdered drinks and electrolytes to replenish both calories and salts in big hits when water fill-ups are all 2-4 hours apart. I carried 15 scoops of Tailwind powder which is excellent for while moving, but I would carry extra flavoured salt tablets specifically for encouraging drinking more at huts. Salt pills might also help for instant salt replenishment without required water. As would an extra 1L bladder...

A slightly alarmed tramper at Maungahuka generously made me a hot salty soup which made all the difference, especially while negotiating the exposed ridges of the famous Tararua Peaks with their fun sections of ladders and scrambling.

By now the sun was dipping, and a moist flow of warm air was gushing over the low peaks at the southern most part of the range before hitting Kime. With the cooler temps I was charging again and reaching the Southern Crossing was a big mental boost, although I knew at least 6 hours still remained.

There were some awkward exchanges with trampers at the hut, curious about the size of my pack as I quickly downed a bag of cereal & protein powder with some canola oil that I found in the hut.

“Just up from the Forks?”

“Nah, from Putara.”

“Where’s that?”

“Up in the northern part.”

“I don’t see it on my map…”

“Must be on the other map…”

From Mt Hector, that previously most distant peak, I now looked back to the north at the array of ridgelines leading north to Putara, seemingly floating on a bank of thick cloud pushing in from the west. It’s not often your days’ work is so evident in one sweeping view. What an inspiring range.

The Dress Circle’s smooth trails were an absolute delight and I reached Alpha hut at 930pm in good spirits, 18 hours after starting that morning. I had 6 hours to reach Kaitoke for the 24-hour mark and was confident of making it now.

But, I knew well of the horrors of the Marchant that lay below and looked forward to discover the hellish ridge for myself.

The nightmare began sooner than expected. My “fully charged” headlamp died barely an hour later. But I was prepared, with fresh AAA batteries. Computer says no. This new rechargeable headlamp does not accept replacement batteries.

A foolish mistake with only myself to blame. Fortunately, I still had 30% of juice remaining for my phone flashlight to guide me down the next 3-4 hours of Marchant Ridge.

I was now no longer chasing the 24-hour mark, but the rapidly falling battery level on my phone. I feared of being stranded in the dark bush with the dream slipping away…

So I flew through the bush with reckless abandon.

Another hour later and my fears of dehydration returned. Five hours on only 1 litre, what was I thinking? Soon I was searching every bog for a drinkable puddle of clear liquid. I was unbelievably thirsty.

I was ready to take the turn off to Smith Creek shelter and plunge myself into the Tauherenikau River, when at last a deliciously stagnant puddle appeared across the track. I gulped that down, and took some for the road. Giardia could wait, Kaitoke was coming.

I hammered the final descent of Dobson Loop track and finally reached the famous Kaitoke carpark of glory.

It was 2am, 22 hours 25 minutes had passed. I collapsed into the black Mazda my uncle had left for me there and doused myself with hot chicken soup and Powerade. I was just glad I didn’t have to turn around and go back up the Marchant for a second lap. What a way to start 2020.

Gear used on traverse:

For more information, visit: https://tararuafkt.wordpress.com/

Download the GPX file

Big Sunday Runs Wellington Facebook Group - for organising logistics with local runners and joining a great NZ core running community.